Sip wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that he didn’t run into C-557 during his next volunteer shift in the slave market.

No, that wasn’t true. Being honest with himself, he was pretty sure he should be glad she wasn’t there. Seeing her leave with another dom would just have been miserable. In fact he shouldn’t even be looking for her. But it was hard not to. Twice or thrice he did double-takes when a pale blue mare appeared in his peripheral vision, but it was never her.

He had hoped that the relative success he had had on his previous visit would make it easier for him to pick up another sub for himself as he wandered the dungeons after his shift. But somehow it didn’t seem to work that way. If anything, it felt even harder than before to decide to make a move on any of the subs.

When he had been through the slave pits once without being able to pick anypony, he suddenly realized that he had been comparing them all to her in his thoughts and found them less approachable, more risky, less attractive. That wouldn’t do, of course. Even if he managed to pick a mare, it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a scene where he was constantly comparing her to somepony else.

With only a small pang of regret he gave up on new mares for today and instead trudged up to the library in the dominants’ lounge. There were still useful things he could do with his time: planning out the tryst he had scheduled with C-557 next Tuesday. He owed her better than just winging it, now that he had time to prepare.

He leafed through a few of the dom manuals they had used in his introduction course. There were parts of them that made better sense now that he had tried running a scene on his own. Make a note of things your sub reacts well to, for example, so you can reward her with them later. When he had first read that, it hadn’t sounded particularly helpful, just a truism – but now he got out a stack of index cards and began making those notes.

What had she liked from that session? She had said afterwards that leading her blindfolded around the dungeon had been hot. He wrote that down on a card, but added in smaller letters, Not as last part, though? Must release tension after.

She had practically asked him to try caning her once more, too. That made another card.

Then there was the ‘Caballeron act’. He wrote a card for that, a bit reluctantly. It had been fun to improvise the villain role, but for a planned scene she would expect something with fewer plotholes in it. He wasn’t sure he would be up to that.

Was that all? Ah, no! He grabbed one last card and wrote down, Masturbation (Her!), remembering how excited she had been at doing that in front of him. He gave himself a pat on the back for having noticed something himself, not just waiting for her to tell him what she liked.

So this was what he had to work with. Four hits from one night; that didn’t sound all bad. Of course he would have to find something new to do too; he was only all too aware of how small a corner of the vast landscape of kinks he had explored yet.

That was what the library was for. He grabbed a few recent issue of Spank!, a doms-only inspiration newsletter that could not be taken out of the lounge, and began reading carefully, looking for ideas that that would combine with his cards.

Finally Tuesday came.

It must be a slow day at Honest Bram’s because the salesclerk started by showing Sip three or four completely wrong slaves. Sip knew that ritual: give the buyer a bit of a runaround to keep the place looking active and help make it interesting for the waiting subs. But he hadn’t really thought of it from the customer’s perspective, and he found himself growing impatient even as he did his best to play his role.

“Then how about this one, sir?” With a loud rattle, the salespony opened the door to one of the large holding cages, motioning Sip towards the solitary pony lying on the floor at the far end of the cage. It was her! She lifted her head at the noise, eyes widening as she recognized Sip, but didn’t say anything. She was tied up with many windings of rope around her forecannons and hind cannons, and had bright red clamps on her wings that allowed her to wiggle them somewhat but not unfold them.

“Twenty-three years old, only one owner, never bred,” the salespony recited. “Excellent choice either as a first plaything, or for rounding out a collection. Very eager to please, too.” He held a hoof up in front of C-557’s head, and she licked it sloppily, looking attentively up at him while sneaking short glances at Sip.

Sip wasn’t sure what he felt about that. He went slowly around her, trying to look thoughtful and critical as he surveyed her. He put a foreleg in between her legs and groped her teats appraisingly. She gave a very small gasp but still didn’t say anything.

“Open wide, sweetie. Yes, good girl.” The clerk pried the mare’s jaws apart with one hoof while pointing her at Sip with another. “These are some absolute quality chompers.”

Sip had little idea how to see from a slave’s teeth how much she ought to be worth, but he made a show of inspecting her mouth anyway. “Hmm – this might do,” he allowed cautiously.

The salespony let go of her head, fixing Sip with a charismatic smile. “And she’ll be yours for the entirely ridiculous sum of ten brands.”

Sip watched her carefully for a reaction to the figure. When he joined the society he had been given five brands – the largest denomination of play money – to start with, but he had made a lot of income from volunteering since then and had instructed his colleagues at Bram’s to set the asking price high when he left instructions for how she would be presented for sale earlier in the day. To his disappointment, however, she did not seem to be aware that she was on sale for a much larger sum than most beginning doms would be able to raise.

“A bit steep,” he said, frowning. “Is there any kind of deal you can offer on that?”

The other stallion raised his eyebrows silently.

“I can also just go elsewhere, you know,” said Sip, forcing himself to shrug nonchalantly. Even though he knew it was all an act, and it was certain he would be leaving with this mare, it was hard to pretend he might walk away.

The salespony sighed. “I have some latitude,” he said smoothly. “How’s nine brands sound?”

Sip walked slowly around her, pretending to be deliberating intensely while kicking idly at her gaskins and buttocks like he had seen other buyers do when he was the clerk. “I was thinking more,” he countered eventually, “of something like seven and two.”

“Eight.”

“Throw in the wing restraints, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Deal!”

The salespony tied a yellow ‘SOLD’ ribbon to one of the mare’s wing clamps and went out in back to prepare the sales paperwork. Meanwhile Sip fetched the flatbed wagon he had parked in the alley behind Bram’s.

Two of the volunteer clerks helped him lift the still bound mare onto the wagon and secure her to it with neon green cargo straps such that she wouldn’t slide around during transport. Well, perhaps he used a few more straps than strictly necessary for safety. He could have left her free to move her head a bit during transport. But he was buying her fair and square, and if he indulged himself a bit in tying her down tighter than he needed to, who were there to complain? (She could, of course. But she didn’t.)

Sip paid his eight brands to the treasury mare on duty and signed the sales contract without bothering to read through it. He knew it was just a standard form, carefully worded to sound hot but actually place as few constraints as possible on the kinds of play it could be used for. Its main purpose was to remind him that the sale did not override the need for consent from both parties and the sub could bow out at any time. But he already knew that.

He went back to the wagon and started pulling it through the market with a spring in his step.

The training room he had reserved for the night was about halfway across the upper dungeons. Sip had traded away his afternoon shift at The Hayburger and been there hours in advance, making sure everything was ready and going over the plan in his head several last times. It was full of contingencies and options for how to get back on track if something unexpected happened. She might surprise him with something completely out of left field that he hadn’t planned for, but then he would just have to wing it the rest of the night. It hadn’t been a complete catastrophe last time, and hopefully the rest of the plan could be reused later.

This class of training room was large enough that he could drive the wagon right into it. He shrugged out of the pulling harness and went back to lock the door after him. Then he turned around to inspect his purchase. She was looking up at him silently.

“What is your name, slave?” he asked.

She thought for a bit. “Whatever my master wishes it to be.” At the end of the sentence she briefly broke into a grin, but quickly caught herself and got her face back to earnest attention.

He felt his pulse quicken hearing her voice, just as he remembered it. “You are now George,” he said, reaching out a hoof and touching her forehead.

“Yes, master.”

So far, so good; now for the next step. He felt his cock slide out of its sheath, beginning to swell in anticipation. He waited for a few seconds, letting it grow while he thought about what he was going to do.

“Test your bell, George.”

Ding.

He put his forelegs up on the wagon on both sides of her head, positioning his penis right in front of her muzzle. “Suck,” he commanded.

To his surprise, she did!

He had thought he would have to force her, that she would try to pull away like he surely would if somepony shoved an instrument of urination into his face. In fact that was supposed to be the point of it, showing her who was boss before he would begin being kind and caring later on. But rather than that it felt like she reached out with her lips to guide his dick in between them.

He carefully pushed forward about half a hoofwidth – one of his lecturers had been rather insistent about the choking hazards of face-fucking an immobilized pony too deeply – and got his second surprise. He had vaguely expected a pony’s mouth would be a kind of ill-fitting imperfect approximation of a marehood, but he hadn’t accounted for her tongue. It darted and danced around the tip of his shaft, up and down the modest length of cock he dared to stick into her mouth. At times it felt like there was more than one of it, splitting into an array of sensual tentacles caressing his cock from all sides. He would have pulled out in horrified surprise if it hadn’t also felt so good – –

He felt the front of his dick hit something, and realized with alarm he had begun sliding further in and gone far beyond the point he had intended to. Below him, he could see the mare’s muscles suddenly tense up against the straps, and her tail twisted jerkily from side to side, as if she was preparing to ring her safety bell.

Oops! He pushed off with his forelegs and pulled out, out, out into the cool air of the training room. The mare inhaled noisily and started coughing and sputtering under him. Don’t apologize! flashed through his mind. He couldn’t just stop now, but why hadn’t she rung her bell? Had it failed? He couldn’t continue either, not without being sure he hadn’t ruined her voice.

He waited until her gasps subsided, and then asked her coolly, “Are you quite finished?”

“Yes, master. Sorry, master.”

“Good. Continue.” He put the cock up to her muzzle again, and she resumed sucking, a little more careful now, but still eager and active.

Sip’s mind reeled. His plan was either failing horribly already or succeeding beyond his wildest dreams. She was supposed to feel revolted and degraded, a helpless, powerless victim of his whims – but instead she was humming contently around his dick. Her bound wings fluttered erratically up and down, and he could see her leg muscles not so much fight her bonds as stretch happily against them. And through all of it she was licking and squeezing his dick like a particularly delicious piece of candy, sending jabs of ecstasy back through the shaft into his loins. He couldn’t tell himself this was wrong.

He put a hoof down and began rubbing the back of his shaft, the part he didn’t dare push all the way in. She opened up her mouth and drew breath in around his dick, the inrush of air suddenly cooling the saliva-covered front end. Before he could react she closed it and resumed sucking, warm and moist and welcome. He rubbed along the base of his shaft, faster and faster as he felt the tight knot of tension building in his groin. The head of his cock flared out, and he felt her slow down just a little as it filled her mouth, but not stopping. Sliding his hoof further down, he wrapped it under his shaft, stroking as much of his length as he could without hitting her in the face. It took only seconds to push him over the edge. He clenched his teeth to stop himself from crying out as the first thick shot of seed erupted in his slave’s mouth. His hips jerked back and forth in time with the eruptions of jizz, no longer holding back, but somehow she kept her lips closed around him, squealing with excitement as she milked out as much cum as possible.

When he crawled back down off her, she lay there with bulging cheeks.

“Good slaves swallow,” he said softly.

Her irises went small at the implied command, but he saw her jaw and throat begin to move in small starts. He reached out a hoof to tousle her mane while she worked. Eventually she opened her mouth and breathed noisily through it, to show it was all down.

“I’m going to untie you now,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go. I paid a lot of dough for you, and I’m going to get my money’s worth out of that, understand?”

She had closed her eyes and looked like she was trying to turn in on herself. “Yes,” she whispered. “M’ster.”

“There’s nowhere to run, anyway. If you do manage to get out the door and bolt, the guards are just going to catch you and bring you back to me.” That was a blatant lie, of course. The guards that did patrol the society’s dungeons were there most of all to make sure the safewords were being respected. If he wanted them to take an active part in his scene he would need to book (and pay for) a particular role-play script in advance. She knew that too, but he hoped she would understand and let him set the mood anyway. “You’re not going to like what happens then. Or you can be a good little slave and do as I tell you, and then I think we’ll get along pretty well. Do you understand, slave?”

She made a strangled little sound and tried to nod against her straps.

He set to untying her from the wagon. “You have a pretty mane,” he remarked while he worked. “Perhaps I’ll let you keep it.”

It was some time before she answered. “I could carry it around for you, master?” she suggested uncertainly.

Ooh, clever girl. “We will do that to begin with,” he said with a chuckle and gave her stifle a small squeeze while he unspooled the rope from her hind legs. “And now we’re going to find out how honest Bram really is, I guess. Down here!”

She jumped down to the floor, and he took the wing clamps off her. She stood there wearing only her collar and decorative hoof straps, tossing her mane and shaking her legs one by one.

He gave her some time to get her circulation back, and then sighed theatrically. “George,” he said disapprovingly, “has nopony taught you how to stand in front of you master?”

She looked over at him, frowning. “Um, I don’t think so,” she said, shrinking away from him ever so slightly. “No, master?”

“Eight brands,” he muttered to himself in what he hoped was an appropriately bitter tone. “Only one owner, he said. Excellent choice, he said.” He sighed again, turning his attention back to George. “Okay, we’re going to start fixing that right now.”

Position training had not been among the suggestions Sip found in Spank! when he was planning the scene. But it had been mentioned often enough for that. Practically every issue had an article leading with, ‘When plain old position training has lost its spark . . .’ and gradually he got the impression that perhaps he was supposed to begin with that before the spark, whatever it was, would be lost and he would need to move on to the more exotic options from the magazine.

He remembered that he had been shown the position manual in his intro class, but he had not listened too closely then, because it didn’t seem to involve anypony being tied up. (Besides, he had been more focused on listening for surprise safewords). Once he pulled down the manual and really read it, he realized he should have been more attentive. It turned out the positions were not taught in the sub introduction course, such that they could be trained in them by their own doms instead. Since C-557 was a new member, he could become the one to first teach her the basics – but only if he struck fast before she found another dom to do it. So he had memorized a good number of the positions and made it a major part of the program for today.

The training session was surprisingly enjoyable once he got it going. He had a riding crop down and used it to correct small mistakes in her posture – not so much hitting her with it as pointing and prodding – and she on her part did her best to be putty in his hooves, eager to please like the salespony had promised.

He didn’t have a word for the feeling he got when she jumped and spun to get into a precise position at his command, save that he liked it a lot. And as for the look on her face when he praised her for doing something right . . . he actually relaxed his standards a bit so he could get that more often.

A few times she did goof up, mixing up the names of the positions or forgetting the head and tail poses that went with them. He didn’t make a big deal out of that, just sighed and rolled his eyes and said, “It all adds up . . .” in an ominous tone, leaving it for her to imagine what it would add up to. It worked, too; he could see she tried extra hard for some time after he had to do that.

He spent more time on the position training than he had planned to, but eventually he decided it was enough of that. George seemed to be getting tired, reacting slower and making more little mistakes than she had at first.

She ended up lying on her back on the floor with her legs sprawling out in all four directions, a position that the manual called ‘surrender’. He savored the sight of her that way, laid bare and open before him, for some time before moving on to the next phase.

“That’s good,” he praised her. “Now stay in position but bring one foreleg back along your stomach and start touching yourself.”

He could see her breathing quicken as the implications of his order dawned on her. She wore a nervous little grin as she hesitantly moved a hoof back and began massaging her marehood.

He walked around her, inspecting, while she got into a rhythm. The only sound in the room was his slow hoofsteps and the repeated wet slicks of her grinding along. He wasn’t sure if it was completely bizarre or insanely hot – here she was, lying on the cold hard floor pleasuring herself to the room, just because he had told her to. He hadn’t even touched her. That was a new sort of power, different from the kind with ropes and chains that he had expected to wield. But he liked it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, slave?” he asked.

“Y-yes, master.”

“Tell me when you’re just about to come.”

“Mmmh.” She made a nodding movement with her head. It was not a proper answer, but he let it slide. After all, this was meant as a pleasant little break for her before he was going to attempt edging – which the training manuals had made clear was a real thing, not just a made-up idea for erotic stories, but given precious little information about when enough would be enough. He had reluctantly concluded there was probably no substitute for getting real experience himself, which meant he had to start doing it without really knowing what he was doing.

“Almost n-now,” she suddenly gasped, yanking him back into the now.

“Stop,” he replied. “Back into position, hooves spread to the sides.”

She did as she told her and lay there splayed out on the ground, panting. Her teats were pointing straight into the air, trembling slightly. He put a forehoof down on one of them, feeling the soft tissue give way as he pushed down, until it reached the limit of its shape and came up firm and warm under his hoof. He moved the hoof around in little circles, massaging the boob, listening as her breath grew more jagged. He lifted the hoof until only the tip of the teat touched it, and brushed the hoof against it lightly on the way to the other teat, where he repeated the movement.

Now she was making little strangled whines at the beginning of each breath. Her marehood was dark and glistening with secretions seeping out from between the folds. He reached his muzzle down to sniff at it, and then, on impulse, stuck his tongue out and licked. It tasted like –

“AAaaah!” she shouted, and began convulsing in front of him, her marehood turning in and out, up and down in patterns he hadn’t thought possible. Her body twisted and turned as she moaned loud gibberish, though she managed to keep her legs mostly stretched out in the position he had ordered her into.

Whoops – so much for edging. Oh well, he’d known he’d probably fail at it the first time. Only it didn’t feel like failing. In the sudden clarity of hindsight he wondered if the whole ‘edging’ business had been a lie he told himself so he would have a way out if he didn’t manage to make her come.

There was still a track to get back on, though. He stood up and stepped back from her, trying to put on a disappointed expression while her throes waned. “George,” he said with a sigh, “did you just orgasm?”

“Yes . . . ahh . . . master.”

“Did I allow you to do that?”

She frowned. “Um, no . . . but –”

“What am I going to do with you now?” He walked slowly around her towards her head end.

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding confused. “. . . er, master.”

In his imagination, it had been her who would suggest that he punish her at this point, but she seemed to completely fail to read his mind. He sighed again. Okay, it wasn’t as if he depended on her telling him what to do.

“Assume the ‘present’ position,” he said. “Keep your head on the ground”.

That wasn’t easy for her; she had to first roll over on her belly and then carefully winch her rear end into the air using only her hind legs. Sip stood by and watched her efforts, being careful not to help. When she was fully in position he walked over to the tool wall and picked down the cane. She followed him with her eyes, watching him solemnly. He remembered she had been blindfolded when he caned her the week before; she wouldn’t recognize it by sight. He took a quick swing at the air, and then she reacted, eyes going small as she remembered the sound.

“I think you’ve met this one already,” he told her. “It’s a magic wand that makes bad, worthless slaves into nice slaves who still have a chance of being useful to their master. And right now it’s your best friend. Do you know why?”

“B-because I’m a bad, worthless slave?”

Kneeling in front of her, he held the cane up to her muzzle. “Kiss your best friend, slave.”

She managed to stick her head out a fraction of a hoof, and touched her lips to the cane. Just as he was about to pull it away she did it again, and he ended up sliding the cane slowly past her while she planted kisses along the length of it.

He stood up and walked silently around to her behind. She was holding her tail obediently to the side as he had taught her when they trained the position earlier. Small jitters were traveling down the tail, and he grabbed the tail briefly to give the end with the safety bell a light shake – not that he really thought she was forgetting the safewords, but it wouldn’t hurt to remind her, before things were about to get real. No sound, other than her deep, deliberate breaths.

He touched the cane lightly against her buttocks, taking aim while he found a good footing. “Count the strokes,” he ordered. Then, after waiting for ten of his own heartbeats, he swung.

“OooONE!” she shouted, so loud it was almost a scream.

Sip waited a goodly time before the next stroke, to give her time to tap out if she was going to do that. But nothing happened. He swung again, a little lower this time.

A few seconds passed. “Two,” she called out, a hard edge to her voice as if she was speaking through clenched teeth.

Sip swung the cane again. This time she took even longer to respond, hyperventilating loudly. At last she half whispered, “th-three.”

He put down the cane and went back to her head end. She lay still against the floor, with her eyes clenched tightly shut and a small trickle of tears running down her cheek. He knelt down in front of her, stroking her forelock gently.

“You’re doing very well, George,” he said. “And since you’re being good, I’m going to give you a choice.”

She opened an eye, looking up at him.

“Either we can do the rest of your punishment like this. Or I can strap you to a rack and give you a gag you can shriek around all you want.”

From a planning point of view it was a bit of a gamble to let her choose for herself. But on the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go through with the next part of the plan if it wasn’t something she wanted. In fact, he was pretty sure he didn’t. So it couldn’t be helped.

She thought for what seemed to be a long time. Eventually she took a deep breath and answered, “The rack, please.”

The rack Sip had selected was one of the three that were permanently mounted in this kind of training room, a simple upright one consisting of four sturdy wooden legs in parallel to the sub’s legs, supporting an adjustable horizontal plank along the bottom of her barrel, all with plenty of attachment points for straps and ropes. While setting up for the session he had mounted a headrest extension that stuck out in front of it and would support a pony’s head if she stuck her neck out horizontally.

As he led George over towards the rack, it occurred to him the he really should have made her crawl instead. But it was too late for that. Another time.

He had her walk directly onto the rack, spreading her forelegs wide apart and making small steps to avoid kicking the hardware in the middle. Sip used the hoof-operated hydraulic mechanism to raise the top plank until it just touched her body – it could go higher than that, lifting the sub’s hooves off the floor, but the manual had warned him that could make breathing harder, and he didn’t want to need to watch out for that in addition to everything else.

He set out strapping her tightly to the rack, starting with a blindfold and a band around the back of her poll to keep her head down, and continuing down her neck, forelegs, body, hind legs, until her every joint was securely immobilized. For her wings he put on the clamps he’d gotten from Bram’s, tying them together with string so she couldn’t fold the wings down to her sides, and then he tied her dock up towards those.

The gag came last – he’d wanted to leave her free to complain if he did one of the straps too tight. But she hadn’t said anything at all, other from occasional little hums that sounded almost comfortable while he tightened the straps, and a startled yelp once when he chanced to brush one of the straps against her buttocks. Eventually, though, he had her test her bell and stuffed her mouth with a big ball gag.

All the setting-up had taken so much time that most of the intense atmosphere from the first part of the caning had left the room by now. He felt a short burst of despair at having botched the planning, but managed to convince himself there was nothing he could do about it. He had promised her more punishment; he couldn’t go back on that now just because the mood was wrong. Call it a learning experience, he thought while picking up the cane where he had left it. Perhaps if he’d kept talking while he strapped her in? If he did it in this order again – if there’d even be an again after this – he would need to have something planned.

“I believe we were at three strokes,” he told her. “Ready for the rest?” He knew she couldn’t answer him, but asking would give her some time to prepare.

He could see her tense up, muscles working against the straps, the dock string going limp as she tried to keep her tail up and away. “It will hurt less if you relax, you know,” he chided gently. He thought he recalled something like that from the physiology-of-pain lecture. The strings danced up and down as she tried to make herself take the advice. He took aim and struck.

As soon as he connected, she let out a shrill screech through the gag. It echoed through the room, or perhaps only through his mind. He closed his eyes and told himself sternly that he had to trust her, had to depend on her tapping out if it was too much for her.

Out loud he said, “Four.” He waited several moments to give her time to ring her bell. She didn’t. He struck again, perhaps a bit softer than before.

Another scream.

“Five.”

Still no bell. He swung again.

This time she kept screaming, again and again, only interrupted when she ran out of air and had to draw more in. He decided this was enough, dropped the cane, and rushed up to her front end to throw his hooves around her.

“There, it’s over now, you did good, yes, let it all out, I’m so proud of you,” he babbled, an endless stream of soothing nonsense. When she stopped screaming, he kept hugging her for some time before he collected himself and stood up to remove her gag.

“What do you say now?” he asked when she didn’t speak at first.

She was still short of breath after her ordeal. “This – this slave is thankful to her master for the discipline she received. Your slave needed to be shown her place. The slave is ashamed of her reckless actions earlier, and she will be more obedient in the future.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Where had she learned to talk like that? Of course, she had probably read a lot of the same stories he had. He kissed her on the snout. “My slave is an awesome and brave little slave,” he said warmly.

Even though she was still blindfolded, he could see her blushing and smiling. He began unstrapping her from the rack, making sure to keep speaking as he went. “In fact, she has been so awesome that I think she has earned a nice little reward. Do you know what that is?”

She pondered that for long enough that he got both her hind legs free while he waited. “This slave couldn’t even begin to guess,” she answered cautiously.

“Don’t worry, you will find out soon enough.”

He decided to leave the gag off and instead put a simple halter on her before he led her out for another blind walk through the dungeons. He hushed her when she asked where they were going and she took the hint, staying silent for the rest of the trip. When he looked back there was a little smile playing on her muzzle, or sometimes even a cautious grin. He liked seeing that; and she couldn’t have done it with a gag.

The trip ended in a little alley behind a closed collar studio off the road towards the pet play district. He had chosen this place because the back end of the alley opened into a small open space overlooking the slave markets. The sounds of the hectic activity down there blended into a background murmur, and with the street noises from the busy road drifting in through the alley, nopony who had ears to hear with could doubt they were out in public.

He tied George’s lead rope to a ring in the wall next to the collarsmith’s back door. “Keep quiet,” he whispered, “we don’t want to attract attention, do we?”

She shook her head slowly, as far as the rope would let her. He gave her ear a loving little bite before starting down her neck with a trail of pecks and nibbles, around her shoulder and down the side of her barrel. She gave a little gasp when she realized what he was up to, and quietly shifted her weight around, spreading her hind legs apart for him. But he didn’t let himself be hurried, and took time to stick his muzzle in below one of her wings – not biting anything there, just nuzzling around, inhaling her scent – before he shifted himself fully around her and started licking the point of her hocks.

He found himself becoming excited faster than he had expected to. The risk that anypony would walk in on them in the deserted alley was quite small – with luck, she would never know that – but the fact that somepony could felt surprisingly arousing.

Her marehood was winking slowly in front of him, dripping fragrant secretions onto the pavement between her hooves. He reached up and licked it carefully, and suddenly her attempts to stay quiet became a lot louder, wheezing and stepping in place and thrashing her tail from side to side.

He gave in and let himself be consumed by the act. She was ready; he was more than ready; edging had failed him one already. Nothing more to wait for. He reared up, steadying himself on her croup, and pushed in. She may have whinnied; he didn’t care. He may have cried out, he didn’t even know. He knew just her, his mare, wanting him, eager for him to claim her. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into her body, her marehood accepting every inch in its warm, moist embrace. He closed his eyes, surrendering to his body’s instincts, and his hips started to rock back and forth, working his shaft into her with steady, gentle thrusts. He didn’t even try to hold back the orgasm that quickly built in him. He let out a small, shuddering sigh as the night’s second climax overtook him, her marehood massaging his shaft to squeeze out his seed as much as he was pumping it in, leaving only warm glowing happiness behind.

It was not far to the nearest aftercare room. It was not the same one they had used last week, but similar enough that George recognized the decor as soon as he stripped her of the remaining restraints and the blindfold.

“Aah,” she said, spreading her wings out and in again. “That was fun! Thanks.”

He grinned back at her and sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire, exhausted but happy that it had all gone . . . well, mostly well. He motioned for her to sit down in the other one – now just an invitation, not an order.

“I never knew position drill could be so much fun –” she said, sitting down – but as soon as her buttocks touched the upholstery she shot back up, wincing.

It must have been the caning. “Oh,” he said, crestfallen. “Did I hurt you?” Of course he did; that was the point. Stupid stupid stupid.

“Yes.” She smiled bravely. “But then you hugged me afterwards. That was nice.”

Sip didn’t think that sounded very reassuring. “Do you –” he fought to find the right question to ask “– should I rather just have hugged you instead?”

She seemed to think seriously about that. “No,” she said at last. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Do you need a hug?” she asked suddenly. “I mean – some of the teachers said sometimes it’s the dom who . . .”

He shook his head. “I just wanted to know you’re alright. But I’ll take the hug anyway.” He got up from the chair and wrapped a hoof around her. She responded with both her forelegs, squeezing him tightly, rocking slowly back and forth.

He lost himself briefly in the warmth and strength of her embrace. It was only a hug, but somehow, in a way he couldn’t explain, it still felt even more intimate than coupling with her earlier had. He wasn’t in a mind to question it, though, as long as it continued.

Eventually she let go of him. “Seriously, though,” she said, “does this look as bad as it feels?” She turned her rump towards him and lifted her tail out of the way.

He could see faint red lines across her behind where he had hit her with the cane. “It shows a bit,” he admitted. “Perhaps you could wear a skirt on your way home or something?” He hoped the marks would be gone by morning.

“A bit?” She didn’t sound reassured.

“You could see for yourself, out in the shower.”

“There’s a shower?”

Right. If she had only been in an aftercare room once, with him last week, she wouldn’t know the door behind the bed led to a bathroom. So he showed her that and helped hold her tail to the side while she inspected her wounds in the full-height mirror. “It doesn’t look all that dramatic . . .” she said.

Sip remembered something else about the safe rooms. “There’s supposed to be a tube of analgesic cream somewhere here,” he said, and started looking through the cabinet under the sink. “Perhaps that will help?”

“Might be a good idea,” she acknowledged with a grimace.

So he got to rub her butt with the cream, very carefully, while she held her breath and did her best not to whimper too loudly when he stroked across a particularly sore point of the welts. She didn’t need to do that for his sake, but he was glad she made an effort all the same.

“You’ll tell me if it’s ever not fun for you, right?” he asked her as they walked out of the bath together.

“Mmmhm.” She rested her head on his withers.

“I mean, it would be terrible if I kept doing that to you, and then it turned out both of us thought we were humoring the other.”

She stopped walking, lifted her head away from him. “Are you saying you were only humoring me?” she asked, looking hurt.

Oops.

“No no no, that’s not what I – I mean it was hot but –” He forced himself to breathe. “I liked doing it, you see? But if you only let me do it for my sake, then . . . it has to be something you want. Otherwise it’s just . . . horrible.” He remembered the picture of Beating Heart’s beat-up marefriend, so long ago.

She stood frowning for a while. “I don’t know what to say,” she said at last. “It hurt, but it also, the whole thing also felt good. Somehow, I don’t know why. But it did.”

He flopped down onto the bed. “I want to make you feel good,” he said, not looking at her. “Whatever it takes.” And that was a terribly cheesy thing to say, outside play. They weren’t even dating, just meeting up once a week, so far, to help each other figure out how to do this. And if he hoped for a deeper relationship than that, her red collar made it plain she wasn’t looking for that.

Suddenly she was in the bed on top of him, hugging him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He squirmed around under her so he could hug her back, thankful that she had let his faux pas slide without comment. “You’re wonderful, do you know that?”

“It’s not something ponies tell me often,” she replied.

“Don’t listen to them.” He hugged her tighter. And they kept lying like that for a long time.

She rolled off him cautiously, but lit up in a smile when she was free of him. “I think the cream’s working now,” she said.

He managed to smile back, somehow sensing she was preparing to leave. “Next Tuesday?” he ventured.

She nodded. “At seven?”

“Bram’s?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You can’t keep buying me again and again, can you? How about the west livery stable?”

“That works too.”

She planted a quick kiss on his lips on her way up. It was over before he registered what happened. “Take care,” she said.

“You too.”

She waved to him from the door as she left. Eventually he stood up from the bed and set out towards the training room to clean up there and take the wagon he’d borrowed back to the vehicle pool.